


Don't Like It When You Touch My Stuff

by killjoy_assbutt



Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [4]
Category: Henry Cavill - Fandom, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Geralt of Rivia smut, Smut, geralt of rivia x reader smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoy_assbutt/pseuds/killjoy_assbutt
Summary: Anon requested: Instead of knife play with Geralt… sword play. Him tying u up against the bedpost and standing away from u and intimidating/teasing u with only the tip of his sword while he’s jerking offSummary: Being married to a Witcher isn’t easy; not when he leaves for months on end and is only able to spend little time with you. You make it work, the little time you have you rarely leave each other’s side. And you have only one rule, a very important one at that: you CANNOT touch his stuff, for your own safety. How hard will he punish you when you break that rule?Pairing: Geralt x 1st person readerWarnings: SMUT, slightly dark and then suddenly very very fluffy, primal behaviour, primal chase, dom/sub, MaleDom/FemSub, punishment, knife/ sword play, male masturbation, teasing, size!kink, light bondage, manhandling, marking, little bit of biting, multiple orgasms (male), good ol’ love making, talking about cum, creampieIf you’re uncomfortable with any of this, do not read!Likes and commentsare very much appreciated 💕
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You
Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051982
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	Don't Like It When You Touch My Stuff

With shaking fingers, I wrap my hand around the sword’s handle, carefully lifting it, my other hand immediately shooting up to support the heavy weight between my fingers. Feeling brave, I swing the blade through the air a few times, mimicking those fight moves I had watched my lover do so many times.

“You know I don’t like it when you touch my stuff,” a deep voice rumbles from behind me, calm and collected but with a cutting edge to it as sharp as the blade in my hand. Startled, I drop the sword, cringing when it hits the ground with loud clatter. I turn, wide-eyed and shaking. We only have one rule: I’m not allowed to touch his things; not his potions, not his weapons.

“I-I’m sorry, love,” I stammer, staring at the large Witcher, “It was la- it was laying on the- the table and… and dinner’s ready.”

My explanation is answered with a shaking of his head. “You don’t touch my stuff,” Geralt states firmly, stalking past me to pick up the heavy blade, “Never. Whether it’s in the way or not!”

I shrink into myself as he bellows at me. I know he’s only concerned about my safety; his weapons are sharp and dangerous, and his potions are poison for anyone other than a Witcher, but still I can’t stop the fear that creeps up in my throat, making me stumble back towards the open door.

“You stay away from my stuff. It could kill you!” he keeps yelling, anger and concern mingling in his amber eyes, flames dancing to a dangerous tune of two racing hearts.

Never before has he yelled at me like that and still I keep slowly stumbling towards the door, away from my terrifying husband.

“Don’t,” he hisses when the tips of my fingers brush against the doorframe, my heels feeling the edge of the doorstep.

Panic guiding my body’s movements, I whip around and start running off into the night. My heart is beating in my throat, the only thing I can hear as I run into the dark forest is my rapid breath – not the Witcher’s yell of my name, not Roach’s confused huff, not our dog’s upset barking.

I weave through the trees I know by heart. Claw-like branches try to grab me with every fast step I take, as if they obey their master, who’s after me. In the dark, the forest I love so much is terrifying, just like the Witcher. I’m nothing but a scared little deer right now, and he is nothing but a hungry, angry wolf. Usually, that is a game we’re playing, but this right now… this is as serious as it could get.

It doesn’t take long before my lungs start to burn and my legs begin to feel weak, despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. My foot gets stuck under a crooked root and with a yelp, I fall. I hear his footsteps close to me, but I can’t see him. I scramble back to my feet, taking a few rushed steps backwards, eyes darting from tree to tree, trying to spot my relentless pursuer. I find nothing; I only hear his steps and low growls. I want to take off again, when two large hands grab my waist and yank me back against a hard chest. A scream escapes me before I can stop it, tears starting to flow down my cheeks, thrashing and fighting against his grip on me. To no avail.

Geralt turns me around, the firm grip on my waist immediately softening the instant he realizes my panicked state.

“Oh, my little darling thing,” he murmurs, hoisting me up. Out of reflex, I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips. I shake violently in his arms, sobbing, my tears soaking into the soft fabric of his tunic. Rubbing soothing circles on my back with one hand, while the other supports me under my bum, Geralt carries me back home, whispering calming nothings in my ear.

“I’m sorry, my sweet little thing,” he coos, “But I really don’t like it when you touch my stuff. You could hurt yourself, or worse. And I could never forgive myself if that happened.”

His deep voice is soothing, grounding me, leading me back to the light after the darkness fear had casted over my mind. The monster from earlier turned into a gentle god of old. My protector, my everything.

Back in the warmth of our cottage, Geralt sits down in the large armchair, maneuvering me so I sit sideways in his lap, legs draped over the armrest, head still tucked safely under his chin. He even goes so far as to wrap me up in the crocheted blanket draped over the armchair’s back. My sobs have ceased to little whimpers, when Geralt brings a tentative hand to my jaw, lifting my head gently. He frowns at my bloodshot eyes and wipes a few tears away with his thumb, so careful as if he fears I could break.

“You know I love you, little darling,” he mumbles and I nod, nuzzling up closer in his embrace. With the ghost of a smile on his lips, the Witcher leans forwards and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His words are followed by a kiss to my temple. “And I would hate myself if something happened to you because of me.” A kiss to my cheek. And then another. Soon, he is peppering my entire face with little butterfly kisses, the short stubble on his jaw tickling and scratching at my tender skin. He only stops when I’m giggling uncontrollably and trying to push him away so I could catch my breath again.

“You are my life, darling,” he mumbles, cradling my skull in his large hand, making me feel tiny and fragile, “I’m nothing without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper back, my voice hoarse from crying, as he leans in and captures my lips in his so tenderly, it makes my heart swell. Ever so slowly, he pries my lips apart, to let his tongue dance with mine.

My head is spinning when he breaks away, smiling down at me softly, stroking the rough pad of his thumb up and down my cheek ever so gently.

“You ran away,” he points out, voice as soft as it could get, but still that deep rumble that vibrates through my chest.

“You yelled at me,” I whisper back, “You never yelled at me before. I was scared.”

“Forgive me, little one. I was worried, that’s all.”

I just nod and crane my neck to press my lips softly to his stubbly jaw, the coarse, short hair tickling against my skin. A low rumbling sound makes my ears perk up and I giggle.

“We should eat,” I suggest, while attempting to climb out of the Witcher’s lap. He only reluctantly lets me go, but grumbles something about ‘smells delicious’. It only makes me laugh more, since it was his stomach that protested just moments before.

Dinner passes by in comfortable silence. Neither of us really feels the need to say something, the occasional glances and smiles are enough. I clean up the table and go to retrieve the expensive wine goblets the bard had gifted us for our wedding. With an approving hum, Geralt gets the large amphora and pours each of us a cup. I smile and grab my cup, about to go back over to my chair at the opposite side of the table, when Geralt catches my wrist and pulls me to sit on his lap.

Giggling, I sip on my wine, a soft moan leaving my lips when Geralt starts nibbling on my neck.

“You know that I still have to punish you for touching my sword, right?” he growls right into my ear. I shiver at the promise, and hum.

“I know.” I set down my goblet and climb off his lap, only to sit back down straddling him. His hand is on my hip in an instant, thumb rubbing small circles into my side, while he brings his own goblet to his lips with the other, taking a long sip as he stares into my eyes.

It makes my breath hitch, the sheer dominance radiating off him through such a simple act. My hips start moving on their own accord, grinding down against his crotch, as I whimper from the hot stare he’s giving me. His hand on my hips slides to the small of my back, supporting my movements against him; still, he clicks his tongue. “So eager,” he mutters and sets the goblet down, leans in, claiming my lips harshly now, his free hand coming up to hold my head against his. I’m trapped, completely at his mercy. There’s no escape from his grip. An intoxicating feeling. Just as intoxicating as the taste of wine on his lips and tongue.

I bring my hands up to rest against his chest, fingers playing with the chain of his amulet, moaning into the deep kiss. A low growl erupts from his lungs when I tug the chain lightly. The grip on my hip grows tighter for a moment, as does his grip on my neck, before his hands suddenly disappear from my body, our lips never parting. When I feel them back on my body, they have found the bottom of my bodice. I slow the movements of my lips, dreading what Geralt is about to do. With multiple, sickening snapping sounds, my bodice is yanked apart. I gasp and pull back from the Witcher to glare at him.

“I liked that one!” I complain while he grins at me smugly. And I know why. He can hear my heartbeat, loud and clear, and how it picked up at his demanding action.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

He leaves me no time to protest. He tugs my blouse out from my skirt and off my body in a matter of seconds, revealing my bare and heaving chest to his fiery eyes. Staring at me like a starving man, he lowers his head, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to the soft swell of my breast, marking me with his spit, and soon also with his lips and teeth. I yelp when he pierces my supple skin with his sharp fangs, marking me as his own. His hands come up to join the ministrations, kneading and pinching, groaning when he feels my nipples harden to small pebbles against his palms.

While my husband busies himself with marking up my neck and chest, eliciting sweet, tiny whimpers and moans from my throat, I start to tug his tunic out of his trousers and then try to push it off his body. It’s difficult, his touch making me lose all focus. But once I manage to lift his tunic high enough, Geralt leans back and pulls the garment off his broad form.

My mouth waters at the sight that is revealed to me. And I would never get used to it. Never. I cannot stop myself. It starts quite innocent, with soft kisses to his neck, the occasional nibble, my hands on his shoulders. But the lower my mouth wanders, my hands following, nails scraping down the hard planes of his chest, the more I tease. Slowly, I get off his lap, to lower myself even slower. I lick down his chest, tongue dancing the deep valley between his pecs, moaning at the salty taste of his sweat, his very own musky scent invading my nose, dulling my senses. The silver chain of his medallion is cool against my tongue when I push it aside, the pendant brushing against my cheek. Still, I go lower, kissing, nipping and licking at the ridges of his abdomen, worshipping even the tiniest scar.

And he lets me do it. His need is as big as mine, probably bigger even, but in the back of my head I know he lets me tease him just to work myself up, so his punishment would be harder on me, once he decided to take control again. But quite frankly, right now I don’t care; right now all that matters to me is showing my husband just how much I love him.

I lower myself to my knees between his lightly spread legs – just enough space for me to sit between them. Mouthing along the waistband of his trousers, my fingers start unbuttoning the front, rubbing and caressing the hard bulge hidden beneath the soft leather, impatient to have him in my hands, but insistent on teasing him for as long as I can. With every button that I pop, my mouth waters more, desperate to taste him.

I peer up at the Witcher through my lashes, finding him staring down at me with a cocked brow, expecting, waiting for just the right moment to take control. With a tiny nod, he signals me to go on. Suddenly overcome with a wave of nervousness, I open the next button. Two to go. I open the next, his hardness straining to escape from its confines. Slowly and tenderly, I let the tip of my index finger caress the sliver of velvet skin that is revealed. And then I open the last button.

His cock springs free of its confines, but before I can get my hands, let alone my lips on him, Geralt pulls me up by my shoulders, spins me around and bends me over the table.

“Did you really think I’d let you do that, little one?” he taunts, clicking his tongue, calloused fingers ghosting down my sides to the waistband of my skirt.

“N-no,” I whimper, slipping deeper and deeper into submission from just his heat radiating off him behind me.

Letting his fingers glide down to the small of my back, Geralt nimbly undoes the strings of my skirt, giving it a tiny push so it pools around my feet. For a few breaths, I just stand there, tense and anticipating what he’d do next. I half expect him to spank me – I have to be punished after all. Heat pools in my belly at the thought, more than it had when I tasted his skin. But nothing happens. I even stick my bum out farther, arching my back, signalling him to start his punishment. But still nothing happens.

Then he presses up behind me, his manhood, hot and pulsing, pokes against one cheek of my behind, while his hands sneak around my hips, splaying out on my stomach. I whimper, by now burning with need; the gentleness of his touch, the feel of his hardness pressing into me, and the uncertainty of what he’ll choose as punishment driving me insane.

He pulls me up gently, one hand on my hip, pressing me flush against his chest, the other sliding up to my throat, applying just the tiniest sliver of pressure, just enough to feel the pulse of my racing heart against his fingertips.

His lips brush against the shell of my ear as he speaks again.

“Oh, my sweet little thing, no no, that’s not what I’ll do with you,” he coos in the low, husky rumble of his voice, “I know how much you like it when I mark up that sweet little ass of yours. There’s no punishment in that, am I not right?” I just let out another whimper, desperately grinding my hips back against him. “I know how wet it’s making you, just the thought of it. I can smell it, your slick little cunt begging to be fucked. Too bad I won’t be doing that tonight.”

His threat makes me shiver. He never let a chance slip to have me trembling beneath him, but he also has the self-control of, well, a Witcher.

A moment of silence passes between us as he nibbles on the lobe of my ear and the skin below, making my breath shudder in a quiet moan.

“Love, please,” I breathe in a shaky voice. I can feel him throbbing against my skin, begging to be buried deep in the sweet, cushioned heat of my velvet walls. I know that any other day, he’d just take me right here, bent over on the table.

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, as if contemplating, “Maybe, if you behave, I’ll give you what you need, little one. But only if you do exactly as I tell you. Understand?”

His command pulls another whimper from me and I nod.

“Good.”

And with that, he gently turns me around and lifts me by the back of my thighs. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck – just like earlier in the forest. The only difference now is that his hot length is pressing right against my folds, rubbing slightly with every step Geralt takes. I bite my lip not to whine, tensing up my entire body to stop myself from grinding against him.

Geralt notices. Of course he does. Putting me down in the middle of our bed, he chuckles lowly, lustful eyes taking in my squirming form. He turns away for a moment, rummaging in the dresser reserved for all his Witcher stuff.

“Arms up,” is all he says when he turns back around, holding something I can’t quite recognize, and I immediately obey. “Good,” he grins, “Now close your eyes.” Again, I do as I’m told, engulfing myself in the darkness that lies behind my eyelids.

Something drops onto the bed next to me, close to my head, and I flinch slightly.

“Shh,” Geralt coos, ghosting his knuckles over my cheek and I relax. There’s the sound of something soft yet strong dragging over the wooden frame of our bed, a light creaking. And then I feel the calloused yet somehow soft fingertips of the Witcher dragging from my elbow up to my wrist, pulling it a little closer to the edge of the mattress. A small wave of terror washes through me when I realize what he’s doing. But it’s too late. He wraps the rope around my wrist and ties it, trapping me in bed. I can’t run. I’m completely at his mercy. Only, in this situation, he doesn’t know mercy. I broke a rule, I have to be punished - it’s the one agreement we made when we got married. The only way to make him stop is to use our safeword, to show him I’m not enjoying this right now. But by the gods above, I am!

“No! Please, Love. I want to touch you!” I beg, tugging at the restraint. It was to no avail; neither would budge, not the rope nor my husband.

“You touched enough of me already,” he growls, and I feel his breath against my neck. I didn’t know he was this close. I jump slightly at the proximity. “Shh, relax, my sweet darling. And keep your eyes closed,” he adds when he sees my eyelids flutter.

I know better than to disobey, and I’m rewarded with a small kiss to my forehead. I listen as he makes his way to the other side of the bed, dragging the rope over the floor behind him – on purpose, how I know him. Again, he ties it to the bedpost first and then takes my arm and shackles me. Again, I tug in protest, again to no avail.

“Is it too tight?” I hear him ask, his voice now coming from the foot of the bed.

“No.”

“Too loose?”

“No.”

“Good. Then…” I hear him stomp over back to the headboard, then feel his hand cradling the back of my head, lifting up a little, and then lowers it back to the pillows, my head now resting a little higher – so my eyes would point at the foot of the bed? What in the names of the gods have you planned, love? “Open your eyes.”

My eyelids flutter open, just as I had been told, and I’m staring at the foot of the bed. No, I’m staring at the Witcher standing at the foot of the bed, now stripped of those deliciously tight trousers, presenting himself in all his gorgeous scarred glory. And I can’t touch. I want – need – to touch him, but he won’t let me.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look all tied up and wet for me?” he taunts, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of my spread legs and glistening petals begging for him, my arousal dripping onto the sheets.

“Please,” I mewl, the pit in my core burning with hellfire, aching with the unbearable need of being stretched to the limits by his imposing cock – that I can’t take my eyes off right now.

“No,” he simply states, “This is your punishment.”

I’m thrashing and writhing against my restrains, howling like a cat in heat, crazed by the view in front of me. His controlled stance is driving me insane.

“Hold still!” the naked beast growls, but I don’t listen, I can’t, for the first time this night. With a grunt, he grabs his silver sword. The sharp sound of metal dragging over the stone floor makes me shiver. He had tossed the blade into our bedroom when I took off? Now he points the blade at me. A whimper escapes my lips, but I can’t stop moving. I’ve lost control over my body long ago, given it up to him when he bent me over the dinner table.

“You will learn to obey orders!” Geralt spits. He lowers the blade, lets the tip glide over my stomach.

I freeze, staring up at him wide-eyed. I trust Geralt with my life, but right now, I can’t help but fear the man I love.

“Now, that’s better,” he grins at me tauntingly. And to make it worse, he wraps his fingers around his rigid and waiting cock, the thing I had been begging to touch the moment we started.

Another whimper escapes me as the tip of the sword brushes over my pebbled nipple light as a feather.

“Quiet!” the Witcher hisses, slapping my tender breast with the breadth of the blade. I have to bite my tongue to keep quiet, staring up at him with teary eyes.

With the taunting grin still stretched along his lips, the Witcher starts pumping himself, releasing one deep groan after the other.

My fingers itch to touch him, mouth and core gushing to please him. But all he does is stare at my trembling form while he strokes himself, the tip of that damned blade ghosting over my skin in order to keep me still, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“How does it feel?” Geralt groans, “When someone’s touching what is yours?” I just let out a whine, tugging weakly at the ropes. “Answer me!” Another slap to my breast, the other one this time.

“Ow!” I whimper, “It hurts. I hate it! Geralt, please. Please, I’ll never touch your stuff again, I promise, but please stop that and fuck me.”

“Not yet,” he growls, increasing the speed of his hand around his shaft, his tip weeping the first droplet of pre-cum. Transfixed, I watch it run down the side of the Witcher’s cock, gliding over all the ridges and pulsing veins I want to touch so desperately. With the next stroke, the droplet disappears, smeared all over Geralt’s length. A deep groan erupts from his chest when the tiniest amount of wetness eases the movements of his hand.

I clench my legs together at the sound, the pit in my belly blazing, aching with hellfire licking at every of my nerves. Rubbing my thighs together, I hope to relieve at least a little of the throbbing. But Geralt has none of that.

“Spread them,” he commands sternly, his blade ghosting over my body, leaving thin red lines of irritated skin behind.

“Love, please, it hurts.” My voice is breathy and shaky, barely above a whisper, yet full of desperation.

He keeps teasing my mound with just the tip of his blade, eliciting whimper after whimper from my lips. Still stroking himself, he stares at what the sight of him does to me. I’m panting, writhing as much as the fear of being cut allows me, my skin glistening with a sheen of sweat in the soft light of the candles around us. In short, I’m a complete mess.

“You are so beautiful like this, little one,” he groans, eyes fixed on my nectar-dripping petals while he tugs on his shaft relentlessly, balls flexing, close to his release.

And then suddenly, he dives forwards, slicing through the ropes and throwing the sword down to the floor in one movement. I gasp as he yanks me towards him to straddle his thighs, a firm hand between my shoulder blades supporting me while he smashes his lips against mine. I kiss back instantly, throwing my arms around his neck and tangling my fingers into his hair. Tugging harshly at the strands, I pull him back a little, glaring at him.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I hiss, grinding my hips against his length, finally gaining some friction.

Shaking his head, Geralt smiles, leaning back in to kiss all over my face.

“I won’t,” he murmurs against my skin, “Fuck, it’s been probably just as hard on me as it was on you.”

“I doubt that,” I grumble, grinding my hips harder.

“Fuck, little thing, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum,” he warns in a breathy groan, but I just shrug, pulling my hands from his hair to wrap around his hot iron rod wrapped in velvet. He lets out a groan when I start pumping, the soft skin coated in my wetness sliding beneath my fingers.

I feel him flinch under my touch, close to his release, when Geralt bats my hands away, gripping my hips tightly and yanking me up to sit on my knees.

“Gonna cum inside of you,” he grunts as he pushes my hips back down, impaling me with his length, forcing me to bottom out a few seconds later.

My slick walls show little resistance. They more so invite the intruder to go deeper, sucking him into the lush velvet canal.

The deep sigh escaping my lungs when Geralt enters me soon turns into a loud cry once his tip kisses my cervix. Panting, I let my head fall onto his shoulder, forehead resting against hard muscle and bone, while he lets out a long groan.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants, pressing his lips to my temple. Again, I feel him flinch between my fluttering walls. He’s close. And his strained breathing tells me he’s holding back. Shaking my head slightly, I lift my hands to cup his strong jaw.

“Don’t do that, love,” I whisper, voice strained just from the feeling of him inside me, “Don’t hold back. Give me everything. Please.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warns, voice just as pressed as mine.

“Mhh.” My hands slide to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the long locks, tugging lightly. “I know for a fact that you can go more than one round, my love,” I purr into his ear, gently biting the lobe. Kissing down his neck, I start grinding my hips down forcefully, pulling deep groans from his chest.

“Fuck.” Strong hands clasp around my waist as Geralt guides my movements against him while he starts thrusting into me.

“Tha-at’s it,” I pant between the hard rocks of his hips, “Ju-st like that. Give me- give me every- everything.”

With nearly animalistic grunts, he slams my hips against his, burying his face in the space between my neck and shoulder, leaving me to pant and moan directly into his ear.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunts and his hips stutter. A few more harsh thrusts upward and he roars like a beast, spilling himself into me. I yelp when his sharp fangs sink into the soft skin of my shoulder, drawing a little blood. He stills while I roll my hips against him slowly, allowing him to ride out his high. I giggle slightly when he slumps against my chest, forehead resting against my sternum, panting into the valley of my breast.

Ignoring the throbbing need within my core, I run my fingers through the Witcher’s tangled mane, giving his scalp a gentle massage, allowing him to come back down to earth. Once his breathing slowed to a normal pace, Geralt lifts his head to look at me, eyelids still heavy with afterglow, smiling like a little puppy, before claiming my lips softly. One hand supports my lower back, pulling me flush against his body, while the other braces his weight as he lowers the two of us to lie down.

Slinging my arms around his neck, I keep him in place, even when he tries to roll off me.

“Uh-uh, you stay right here,” I murmur, my fingers dancing over his back light as a feather until he relaxes against me, lowering himself to lie on my chest, stubbled cheek resting against my collarbone.

“Alright,” he mutters, voice drowsy, making me smile, “Just give me a minute, little one.”

Giggling, I run my right hand all over his back, drawing invisible circles on his scarred skin, the other running through his silvery locks.

“What happened, love?” I laugh lightly, “Usually you’re not done so soon.”

“I chopped wood the whole day,” Geralt grumbles, his deep voice reverberating through my chest, “That’s what happened.”

“Mhh, my big, strong man,” I hum, tugging a little at his hair, teasing him.

And with success. A growl erupts from deep within his chest as he props himself on his elbows, catching my soft gaze with his hard, golden stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I smile innocently, contracting my pelvic muscles around his still hard length within me. He just hisses in response and lowers his head again to nip on the sensitive skin of my throat. A surprised yelp leaves my lips, making the beast chuckle. “It means what I said.” My voice is shaky now, just from his slight show of dominance. “You are my big and strong man, love.”

“Hm.”

With a grunt, he slowly starts rolling his hips against mine, making me gasp at the sudden friction within. I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his bottom, trying to get him even deeper. I also buck my hips up to meet him every time he rolls his hips into mine, but Geralt just sneaks his hand down to the small of my back, pulling me up against him. He keeps grinding, hard and deep, but oh so very slow, kissing his way from my throat to my lips, capturing them in a deep kiss.

“You won’t go faster, right?” I mumble against his lips, letting out a deep sigh at the next roll of his hips, how every vein and ridge of his cock strokes me deliciously and at how his pubic bone rubs against my clit with just the right pressure. I feel myself clench around him tightly, flames starting to lick at my insides.

“I won’t,” he whispers back, followed by a small peck to my lips before he pulls back a little to watch as my face twists in pleasure.

“Mhh,” I hum, pulling his head back down until our lips meet. “Perfect. I love you so much.”

“Fuck, woman,” the Witcher groans, shifting so the arm that’s supporting his weight rests underneath my head, his big hand cradling it delicately. His other hand slides back to my hip, holding me in place as he grinds his hips harder into mine.

Breathy moans are swallowed by his lips on mine as he gently leads me to the edge. The flames that licked at my insides are now blazing, the love Geralt puts into every achingly slow thrust are like adding oil to a fire. He holds me close to him while he takes me and at the same time gives me everything he has.

It’s… this is not just sex, not some punish-fuck. This is us giving each other all our love.

I clench hard around his shaft, heels digging deeper into my lover’s lower back. The pressure is growing to be unbearable in my core, euphoria already surging through my veins, waiting for just the right moment to explode.

“Love, I-I…” I let out a breathy moan against Geralt’s lips. I don’t even have to finish the sentence, not that I could, before he responds.

“I know, little one. Me too. Just hold it a little,” he rasps, now quickening his pace just slightly.

He’s so deep, rubbing perfectly against my clenching walls, every ridge and vein stroking nerves that send tiny sparks through my body. His tip bumps into my cervix with every stroke, a delicious hint of pain, eliciting gasp after gasp from me. And then I feel him swell, his thrusts losing their pattern. I have trouble holding it in. Everything is just so intense. My walls are already twitching with the dawning of my high.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pulling back from my lips, staring down at me with lust-blown pupils, watching heavy lids struggling to stay open from bliss. “Look at me,” he coos, softly stroking his thumb along my cheekbone, “Cum for me, my sweet thing.”

That’s all it takes. That’s all it takes for me to soar over the edge, to fall onto the warm embrace of pleasure.

“I fucking love you!” I cry out as I crash, holding onto him for dear life as my body tenses and twitches, my walls clenching hard around him, taking him with me into the white hot pleasure. I can see the love in his eyes, just before mine flutter shut, leaving me with the image of beautiful, golden orbs in front of exploding stars.

Only in the back of my mind, I can feel Geralt spill himself into me for a second time, marking me as his own in the most primal way. Only in the back of my mind, I hear him shout my name as he stills, pushing in as deep as he could go, claiming my body as his. 

Panting heavily, I open my eyes, catching the most glorious sight there is. My Witcher, with his mouth hanging open, lips red and puffy from our kisses, eyes screwed shut and brows knitted in bliss. Another wave of ecstasy washes over me just from the sight of him. With loving fascination, I watch his face twist as he grinds against me slowly, riding out both our highs, breathing ragged.

I reach my hand to Geralt’s cheek, thumb grazing, wiping away a droplet of sweat that runs down from his temple. Slowly, he opens his eyes. His lids are just as heavy from bliss as mine, as he peers down at me lovingly, before he dips down his head to capture my lips one last time.

“I love you too, my sweet little thing,” he murmurs, carefully turning the two of us around. Humming, I snuggle up against his chest, ready to fall asleep with his cock still inside of me, but Geralt has other plans. With one gentle hand on my shoulder, the other on my hip, he guides me to sit up, and if I wouldn’t feel him starting to soften between my walls, I would have whined that I couldn’t go anymore.

Slowly, Geralt makes me sit up on my knees, making him slip from my core. I hiss slightly at the loss of his warmth and the feeling of being complete. And then he holds me there, my folds hovering above his lower belly. Enticed, Geralt stares at the apex of my thighs. I shake my head and laugh lightly when I feel why. His seed is slowly dripping out of me, some running down my inner thighs, some landing on his belly, catching like little pearls in the coarse hair that leads to his treasure.

“Love,” I sigh, “Must you do that? I’m tired and just want to sleep.”

“Hmm,” he grunts, eyes flicking to mine shortly, before focusing back on where we had been joined only minutes ago, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

“Ohh, yeah,” I groan in fake exasperation, “Sooo beautiful. Love, you’re staring at my cunt.”

Finally, he meets my eyes for longer, a shit eating grin painting his lips. “I know what I mean, woman. Your little cunt is so beautiful dripping my cum.”

I just roll my eyes and flop down onto his chest. “Men…” I mutter, making Geralt chuckle lightly, his hand running up and down my back in a gentle caress. A moment of comfortable silence passed between us, the two of us just listening to each other’s heartbeat. Sometimes, it was still slightly unsettling to hear the Witcher’s heart beat so slowly, especially after some more exhausting activities. But the slow beating of his heart also had a very soothing effect and soon I find myself slowly drifting to sleep.

That is when he rolls us to the side and gets out of bed.

“Geralt, what are y-?”

“Just a moment.”

I watch his as he picks up his sword off the ground, carefully puts it in its sheath and hangs it to the wall. And then he disappears from the room, only to come back shortly after with our wine. Smiling, I sit up and reach out a hand at the offered cup, but frown when Geralt sets down the cups, his hands shooting to my forearms. Nimble fingers undo the knots around my wrists, gently caressing the slightly red skin.

“Does it hurt?” the Witcher’s voice is small, soft and filled with regret. He peers at me, serious yet soft, eyes apologizing for the hurt. But I shake my head.

“No, it doesn’t. But I didn’t like it, not being able to touch you. Not even being able to try, but it doesn’t hurt. Love, it’s fine,” I assure him, cupping his frowning face between my palms.

“Good.” He presses a small kiss to the pad of my thumb that had been running along his plump bottom lip before continuing, “Did you learn your lesson?”

I nod. “Yeah,” I sigh, “I’ll never touch your things again. I’m sorry, love. But maybe don’t put it on the dinner table next time, hm?”

A soft smile grazes his handsome features as he shakes his head lightly. “Guess we both learned something.”

“Mhh.”

He hands me the wine and finally climbs into bed, taking his cup from me once he’s settled against the headboard. There, he pulls me to lean against his shoulder, wrapping his free arm around my waist.

We take a few sips of the rich, burgundy liquid in silence, listening to each other’s breath and heartbeat, content in the moment of absolute peace after what we’ve been through today. After a moment of careful contemplation, I break the silence.

“Love?”

“Hmm?”

“You know that I know what I’m doing, right? And I’m not that clumsy. If your stuff is in the way, I can put it away without hurting myself, you know? It’s not like it’s that heavy.”

“I know, sweet thing,” the Witcher sighs, “But if something happened to you, it’d be on me. Just, please, don’t touch my swords again. I know you wouldn’t drink my potions, but my swords… I just want to keep you safe, my darling.”

“I couldn’t be safer, my love,” I mumble, putting my wine aside, and roll up against Geralt’s side, nuzzling my head to his stomach, falling asleep to him gently running his fingers through my hair.


End file.
